** CHAPTER ONE.
The road ended sooner than she expected.
Not in a dramatic way — no barricade, no warning signs — just a narrowing strip of gravel that curved once more and then stopped, giving way to a closed gate and open land beyond it. Fences stretched out on either side, weathered and solid, marking territory that had no interest in being passed through.
She slowed the car and cut the engine.
The silence settled immediately.
No traffic. No distant hum of civilisation. Only wind moving through dry grass and the low, steady sound of cattle somewhere beyond the rise. It was late afternoon, the sun already dipping, casting long shadows that made the land feel older than it probably was. This was as far as she had planned to go.
She sat for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel, notshaking — not this time. She hadn’t come here in a panic. That mattered. She had made a choice, and she had followed it all the way to the end of the road.
The envelope lay on the passenger seat.
She picked it up, turning it over once more, as if the address might change if she looked at it long enough.
Ridgeway Ranch.
No surname. No pleasantries. Just a name and a set of directions written in a hand that suggested efficiency rather than warmth. She hadn’t been invited.
But she hadn’t been warned away either.
The alternative replayed itself easily in her mind — a town that knew her name, a situation she was expected to accept, people who believed the matter settled simply because they had decided it was. Going back meant explaining. Compromising. Waiting for someone else to decide what happened next.
She exhaled slowly.
Then she got out of the car.
The air smelled of earth and sun-warmed timber. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she approached the gate. A keypad was mounted to one post, old but well maintained, the metal cool beneath her fingers.
She hesitated, then pressed the call button.
Nothing happened at first.
She waited, listening to the quiet, aware of how exposed she suddenly felt standing there alone.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Not hurried. Not cautious. Simply present.
Three men emerged from the direction of the main buildings, walking with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly where they were and why. They didn’t fan out dramatically, didn’t surround her — but as they stopped, she was aware that the space around her had subtly changed.
There was no clear path past them.
The man in the centre studied her without speaking. He was broadshouldered, dressed simply, his expression neutral in a way that suggested habit rather than disinterest. The other two flanked him — one watching her with open curiosity, the other scanning the land behind her as if the wider world were more important than the stranger at the gate.
The central man spoke first. “You’re not lost.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.”
A pause. He seemed to consider that. “This isn’t a public road.” “I know.”
“And you still came.”
“Yes.”
